


So Close (That Famous Happy End)

by ViciousRhythm



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Sort of? - Freeform, but only Percy and Pike have speaking roles, the rest of VM is in there, with hope at the end?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:08:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousRhythm/pseuds/ViciousRhythm
Summary: A look at a worst case scenario in which Vex dies in the battle against Raishan, and what passes through Percy's mind when the smoke starts to clear.





	

**Author's Note:**

> By my reckoning, canon can't hurt me as much if I've already hurt myself, right? Right??

Really, Percy should have known better by now. The human spirit is a difficult thing to stifle, however, and Percival is a selfish man. Worse than that, he thinks himself intelligent and forward-thinking, no matter how many times his mind and hands let him down. His useless  _ fucking _ hands, clasped now around one of Vex’s, too trembling loose for fear of hurting her further. Not that it matters.

There is a cacophony around them, the wounded, dead, and dying packed tightly into the battered temple of Pelor within Emon’s ruined temple district. Vax and Scanlan are among them, Scanlan unconscious but stable with that damned flute still somewhere useless in his pockets. Vax clenches his teeth through the arduous process of healing a gut wound, broken noises escaping occasionally. Percy is familiar with the sensation. His own vision swims in moments from what is certainly a concussion, but there is no power on this or any realm that could move him from Vex’s side for something so inconsequential.

Somewhere in the far distance, a ragged-winged Raishan flaps away from the battlefield, carrying with her any hope Percy might have had of ever allowing himself to love something again. Love someone. Everything he loves, everything Percy has ever dared to touch softly, dies. Not in the usual way, as all things must die, but in short and painful order. What started with the massacre of his family continues on, trailing him like smoke, and it is no wonder he followed Orthax so thoughtlessly, when that necrotic touch is already affixed to his very bones.

A memory flickers dimly, of Percy’s childhood, trying fruitlessly to make something grow. Vesper, with her glimmer of green magic, a sliver of what Keyleth wields, had given him a small cluster of bright, hearty cacti and assured him he could not kill these plants. He had anyway, drowning them in his eagerness and desperation to keep them alive. Vesper’s gentle pitying face comes back to Percy as his hand spasms helplessly around Vex’s. Oh, always. He’s always been like this and he should  _ know better. _

The knowledge doesn’t keep his throat from clogging or shameless, hot tears from gathering and spilling when he passes a hand through Vex’s hair, disrupting some of the fine ash. It is better that Vax is currently held down by healers. If it ruined Percy to know of the deaths of his family, he doesn’t know what the sight of his beloved twin would do to Vax. Selfishly - because that is Percy’s core, selfishness - he is grateful for the chance to mourn in momentary privacy. To have no witness to the bargain he already, instinctively, knows will be rejected.

“Please.” His whisper cracks partway through, ushering a new fall of tears he doesn’t bother to brush away, forehead pressed to Vex’s side. “She deserves another chance. I can’t - I don’t think I can… I’ll give you anything, only please don’t take her.”

Perhaps only because he has spoken with her before, Percy’s directionless prayer is answered by the voice of the Raven Queen unexpectedly cold and clear in his mind.

_ You have nothing to offer me, Percival,  _ she says, at once sharp and unwelcomely soothing.  _ I have returned her once already, and she has passed beyond my veil. _

“No,” Percy grits out, head lifting as he changes tack in an instant. His hand tightens and his stomach swoops with nauseous dread when there is no answering reflexive squeeze back. “Vex, dear, please don’t. We - we still have one last dragon to fight. I need you here. I… Vax will be furious, darling, you know he will. You can’t leave us in the lurch like this.”

Vex has always been infinitely more susceptible to Percy’s cajoling than the gods, though it evidently counts for nothing now. Percy is interrupted by a cleric rushing by, arms full of burn salve and healing potions, jostling Percy’s shoulder. It irritates a forgotten injury, drawing a pained hiss from between his teeth. Vex would have stopped his rambling by now if she were able.

There is an undeterminable period of time which Percy spends staring at Vex after that. The sounds of pain and panic surround him, dulled to white noise in comparison to the hollow, unfulfilled scream building in his chest while Percy memorizes her features.

The crown of her head, still slightly ashen, thick black hair spilling down into her familiar, now bedraggled braid. Her ears, not so long or pointed as a full-blooded elf, but always peaking endearingly out of her bound hair. Her nose, which wrinkled a little whenever she tried and failed not to laugh. The curve of her mouth, usually unforgivingly clever and irresistibly soft, now slack and unpainted, slightly open though no breath passes her lips. Her shoulders and arms, slim but strong from drawing her bow. Her waist sloping gently in and then out to her hips where -  _ oh gods -  _ less than a day before, Percy had dug clumsy, elated fingers into that swell of flesh and muscle. He falters at her knees, gaze skipping back up to her closed eyes. Would it do any good, he might tear the lungs from his chest to see her dark eyes open, to see her draw breath. But all that would leave him with is bloody hands, a pair of corpses, and no guarantee he would find her in whatever afterlife awaits him.

Percy’s dismal reverie is broken by a small, gentle hand on his shoulder, making him jerk and hunch protectively over Vex’s body before he identifies the owner of the hand. The face that greets him is Pike’s, tear-stained and visibly worn. In a kinder corner of his mind, Percy hurts for Pike, asked to work in the wreckage of the aftermath, her job never done. In the worst shadowy places of himself, he resents her intrusion and hates himself for the feeling.

“Vax is nearly done,” she says, voice lowered with empathy and personal pain. “Scanlan just woke up, and they’ve cleared a room for us. If we’re going to do this, it has to be now, before any more time passes.”

Percy nods mutely, understanding her meaning perfectly. He’s not so egotistical to have truly believed his pleading alone would bring Vex back. But with Pike’s healing, with Vex’s other half to anchor her, with the force of their combined efforts...they can try. It has been enough before.

He lifts Vex into his arms, standing. Percy is not especially strong, but he has enough strength to carry Vex.  _ Deadweight,  _ he thinks disjointedly, as her form slumps awkwardly before he arranges her properly. The thought nearly sends him to his knees in truly hysterical laughter, the sensation of despair crashing against ragged gallows humor tearing his insides, ripping at the bloody mess safe under his ribs.

Silent and only slightly shaking, Percy hoists Vex against his chest and follows Pike to a private room. There is only the briefest of pauses in his step when a woman looks up at their procession, covered in bruises and filth, sympathy and gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says, hushed and reverent.

Percy has not learned nearly as much as he should have. Ice crawls over the ravaged half of his heart that still beats, wailing emptiness to rival the frigid  northern winds whipping through his chest.  _ Forgiveness _ , Vex carved into Fenthras, where it would be always in her sights, and Percy knows he learned the wrong lesson. He sees the woman out of the corner of his eye as he walks on, consoling a pair of children, and thinks without a hint of regret,  _ You are not worth it. _ Vex’s arm swings free in front of her, loose with dead muscles and nerves.  _ None of you are worth her. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm real sorry, but I'm also still really distraught and needed to get this out


End file.
